


you came on like a punch in the heart

by ennaih (aquandrian)



Series: Death Trooper AU [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: AU where Jyn is part of the Empire, Death Trooper AU, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Imperial scorn, or writing other stuff, outsider pov, some battle violence, things i write when i should be studying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 14:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7109899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquandrian/pseuds/ennaih
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Director and his personal Death Trooper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you came on like a punch in the heart

**Author's Note:**

> So I figure this is an AU where Jyn Erso is one of the Death Troopers. Obviously I don't know how accurate this is or will be cos yes, still writing fic about a movie that isn't out yet.
> 
> I have also decided that every Jynnic fic I write will be titled with a Nick Cave lyric. This seems only right and proper considering I am an Aussie, Ben Mendelsohn is an Aussie, and Nick Cave used to be/is an Aussie. And we are all dark and gloriously fucked up, yes that's my line and I'm sticking to it. 
> 
> This title from _Jesus Of The Moon_ , my favourite line, yes.
> 
> And ooh, spot the Pratchett reference!

At the very top of the Imperial Army is the Director, and his squadron of Death Troopers. Elite soldiers, weaponised creatures of pure menace, they keep to themselves, train in their private section. The rumours persist that they’re not all human, that someone spotted a tail once, that someone else saw one unhelmeted once and they had horns. Still stories like that are typical, probably have been ever since the first xeno politician stood for election to the old Senate. No one knows where the Death Troopers came from but their purpose is clear. To guard the Director at all times in public. 

Some raw recruit once suggested of course he’d need it, look at him, he’s so small and frail, a little old man in a white cape trying to make himself look more powerful than he is. A few holovids later, that recruit was swearing up and down that he never thought such a thing. Footage of massacres will do that to a person. Being shown records that the Director of the Imperial Army was once the most vicious and prolific assassin in the known systems will do that. The next time that recruit saw his highest commander, he didn’t see a frail old man. He saw a predator who had somehow decades ago walked into a crowded ballroom, killed an entire royal family at the banquet table, and walked out again without being caught. It was no weird wizard trick, his stance on that was clear. It was years of training and a complete lack of conscience, said the recruit’s captain, never one to let a teaching opportunity slide.

Wherever the Director goes, there is one particular Death Trooper who stays by his side. In the war rooms, on the ships, on the battlefields, as the other troopers circle out with their blasters and weapons of choice, there is always one who remains no further than three feet away. Implacable, helmeted, sleek black armour, and always always armed, always silent. Most people assume it’s a different trooper each time, maybe they’re on a roster. There’s an occasional rumour, stupidly persistent, that no, it’s the same one every time, the Director’s personal bodyguard.

No one knows. The doors to Death Trooper quarters are sealed to all but them. They’re equipped with their own medical droids, prepare their own meals. And no one ever gets to access the Director’s quarters.

_____________

 

The rebels launch yet another ridiculous attack, so ill-advised and incompetent the officers are vaguely amused, the troopers unfazed as they push back against the humans and filthy creatures invading. The Death Troopers are lethal darting shapes in the chaos, scattered across the ship as they cut down the invaders amazed to be getting this far. Except the idiots get lucky and an explosion rocks the bridge of the flagship, bodies flying amid screams and blaster fire, light searing across consoles and panicked faces. The Director goes down, a heartstopping moment of the white cape pooling. One officer stares aghast at white fabric spilled across the black gleaming floor, an image she’ll never forget. 

But then there’s the fierce dark shape of a Death Trooper hauling him up, and he’s furious, shakes the Trooper off, snarling already, blaster out. There’s blood on the white suit but it doesn’t stop him. The younger soldiers fighting for their own lives see the frail old man move like a whip, remember the holovids and the rumours, and they push back harder. Our commander can kick your rebel scum arses any day, our commander could and has slain all your princesses and lost princes. When a Death Trooper staggers back under the force of blaster fire, the Director spares one bright lancing look at the fallen figure, shoots the rebel and turns away, not waiting to see the body fall. The flagship is materially damaged but the invasion is eventually contained, half the rebels killed, the other half imprisoned for interrogation.

The Empire will not be toppled.

____________

 

“You’re a complete and utter ass, hold still!”

“I am holding still, you’re the one who -- ow! Give me that!”

The medical droid beeps but knows by now to stay clear when these two engage in this weird ritual of bickering and mending. The master has hold of the gauze pads now, dabbing ointment onto his own gashed torso, his mouth grim with pain. The consort -- no, the droid has been instructed not to use that phrase but what’s the correct protocol here? Maker knows -- the trooper watches him, clutching her own wounded leg, so visibly annoyed her hair is practically standing on end.

“You’re doing it wrong,” she exclaims finally.

“I beg your pardon, I’ve been doing this a lot longer than --”

“Oh right, that line again. Well, you’ve been doing it wrong all this --”

“Shut up and pass me the -- are you just going to sit there with that leg out like that? Come here.”

She yelps as he pulls her leg towards him, swatting him on the bicep. The white suit has been stripped down to singlet and trousers, spattered with blood and grease, the cape flung over a chair next to a haphazard pile of discarded armour. The medical droid tuts to itself and decides it may as well clear that up while these two are tending to each other, now that their tone has changed.

“You’re a kriffing idiot,” she mutters, “you weren’t supposed to be there at all.”

“Leaders have to be seen to lead.” His voice is mild now. “You might need a few stitches here. How did that rebel moron even get that close? Mr Tchek, if you could assist us, please?”

The medical droid zips over, ready to do its job. As it gets the sutures ready, the master touches his hand to the trooper’s bare thigh above the wound, his voice tender now. “It won’t take long.”

“I know,” she says gruffly, her fingers linking with his. “I don’t understand why you gave it a name. Droids don’t need names.”

“No,” he agrees, “but I do. And Mr Tchek likes his name, don’t you, Mr Tchek?”

The medical droid beeps back, knowing a response is required and perfectly indifferent. Protocols are always to humour the humans, especially when they require the semblance of emotion.

“They came out of nowhere,” she says softly. “You could have died.”

“I didn’t. You didn’t. You wouldn’t have allowed it, and neither would I.”

When the medical droid looks up to check the light, the master and his trooper are smiling at each other, their faces soft. He touches his thumb to the point of her chin, smudging a bit of ointment there. The trooper’s eyes always seem so huge and hazel in the privacy of the quarters, now when the rage and determination falls away, when she clasps his hand in hers.

“You’re an ass,” she says in that same soft tone. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

The master grins, an expression the droid only ever sees here. He's so much younger than the uniform makes him seem, so much more agile and not at all frail. His hair rumpled across his brow, eyes crinkled up around blue, he says, “The pay’s good, I hear your boss is pretty great, and the uniform’s snazzy.”

“Snazzy?” She snorts. “Where did you pick that up --”

“A few millennia ago, you know when the --”

The bickering continues as the medical droid finishes suturing the trooper’s leg. She thanks it a little awkwardly and the droid beeps back, aware that the master is watching them both with approval. His torso only requires a few bacta patches and then the droid will leave them to take care of each other. 

When Mr Tchek takes the bloodstained clothes away, the doors slide closed on the sight of its master and his trooper. 

The droid has seen them arguing over dejarik while it restocks the medical cabinets, seen them sparring and training, laughing and falling together while it hovers, ready to administer help. It’s seen them curled up together on the soft wide couch, reading Old Republic artefacts, their bare limbs all tangled, the master’s cheek laid against the trooper’s hair, their faces tranquil, talking in murmurs. It’s seen them asleep together in the dark warm bed, wrapped around each other, freckles against freckles, silver mixed in with dark brown, exchanging breath and dreams. 

But it’s always this image after a battle, after the healing, that the droid remembers particularly without understanding why.

The master and his trooper, forehead to forehead, her hands in the ruffled hair at his nape, his hands cradling her jaw. They breathe in each other, breathe in life as they know it.

**Author's Note:**

> The medical droid bit was totally inspired by the hospitality droid in [Examination](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5642338) by [Tarkinducken](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarkinducken/pseuds/Tarkinducken) because I would be nowhere if not for the glorious dark schmoop of the Kylux fandom.
> 
> Also, yes, I think Krennic is basically space!Vetinari in my head.
> 
> Come talk to me at [directororsonwelleskrennic](http://directororsonwelleskrennic.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr if you'd like!


End file.
